tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77444422266104792024-03-05T13:40:59.167-08:00BB's Bountiful BackyardDiary of A Low-Cost No-Till Organic Food GardenBBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-83260160113459021992016-08-08T16:18:00.000-07:002018-01-23T16:23:00.695-08:00A Special Day in Several WaysToday, August 8, is a trifecta of events worth noting. From a personal perspective, my younger sister turning 70 is the most significant item on the calendar: Happy Birthday, Sis! She stays spry by riding her senior citizen tricycle around the tiny rural town where she lives and picking blackberries with neighbors. I try to keep the kinks out by puttering around in the backyard.<br />
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Today is also International Cat Day which seems a fitting tribute to my sister, who does appear to have nine lives and always lands on her feet, even in the bygone days, fortunately brief, when she used to jump out of airplanes for the fun of it. She has cats who acquired her some years ago; we have no <b><i>permanent</i></b> cats at present as our perimeters are patrolled by a fifteen year old canine, wobbly but determined, who still takes his job seriously. There are a few persistent visitors, however, who know where the safe spots in the yard are, and are clearly applying for a position should one become available.<br />
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Less auspiciously, August 8 also happens to be Earth Overshoot Day, the point at which we humans begin overdrawing our account of Earth resources. We are using more resources than Mother Earth can replenish in a year's time and today is when the bank account is empty and we have to break into our grandchildren's trust fund, using up what should be carefully set aside for generations coming after us. The experts who measure these things say that at current rates of consumption we are using the equivalent of 1.6 Earths to keep the party going.</div>
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So it feels especially good today to gather a boxful of garden bounty grown in the richly composted soil of our backyard. All the jewel-toned summer produce will indeed be used up to the last bite. But all the scraps will go into the compost bin, pass through the digestive tracts of many eager worms, combine with whatever organic debris is layered in, and then <b><i>replenish</i></b> the very ground from which it sprang. Daily deposits for Mother Earth's account.<br />
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Happy Birthday! Happy Cat Day! Guardedly happy Overshoot Day . . . . .BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14393951106917282292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-81585162344103076302016-08-06T15:25:00.001-07:002016-08-06T17:34:33.149-07:00Garden VisitorsMake new friends, but keep the old; one is silver, the other gold. Old friends, I'm assuming, are golden, new ones silvery.<br />
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We've had both kinds in the yard in recent months: recurring visitors I expect to see each year and would worry about if they did not show up, as well as unexpected sightings of life forms I may have heard about -- or not -- but haven't personally encountered in our garden.<br />
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One old friend, seen last April, was truly golden:<br />
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The golden tortoise beetle makes infrequent appearances; only once or twice before have I come upon one. Evidently they like to chew on members of the morning glory family, such as the ubiquitous and ineradicable bindweed, so be assured that this year's little fellow is finding plenty to eat. It's said they will change color when disturbed, shifting from shiny metallic gold to a flat orange with spots to fool predators who know how tasty they are but will avoid unpalatable but similarly shaped lady bugs. I guess this bug trusted me, as he stayed shiny on my palm.<br />
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I don't think I would worry if the golden tortoise beetle did not appear one year; but I would greatly miss his cousin, the lady bug, scourge of aphids and other bothersome guests. Fortunately, lady bugs seem to like our garden and are regular patrons. I've heard that they are attracted by brassicas and it's true that in the spring of 2015, when we had an especially abundant crop of broccoli, two beds worth, plus another bed of kale nearby, we also saw an explosion of the lady bug population. They were everywhere; I had to brush myself off before coming into the house. This year is back to normal with fewer brassicas and only occasional bug sightings, such as, in early July, a lone lady resting on some lady-like Queen Anne's Lace.<br />
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Another strikingly patterned orange and black visitor, the notorious harlequin beetle, has been appearing in the last couple of years in early spring. It also seems drawn by brassicas, especially the cover crop mustards I started planting in the same time period. Although it has a bad reputation for sipping juices out of a wide range of garden plants, dining on stems and leaves as well as fruit, weakening and discoloring plant tissues as it goes, I haven't noticed a lot of damage beyond a few holes in the mustard leaves. <br />
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What to say about a new bug found this year in the dried up, two-year-old fava bean pods, saved for cover cropping? In late March, when I dug into the bag of old pods and started shelling out the beans, I noticed some little beetles scurrying for cover. I also noticed lots of little holes dug into the fat tawny seeds.<br />
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One of the pods yielded up a pale, translucent, tiny worm, no doubt the larval form of this new insect.<br />
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It did not take much searching online to identify these bugs as broad bean weevils, a type of beetle and member of a family of weevily critters who feed on dried legumes and grains. The adults lay their eggs on the surface of pods or seeds, then the larva burrows down into the seed and consumes what it needs before pupating in place. The hatched adult crawls out of the little seed tunnel hollowed out by the larva and the beat goes on.<br />
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The bugs were indeed feasting on my fava bean seeds, but as everything I planted sprouted and grew without problems, I nonetheless count them as new and interesting friends.<br />
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Old or new, silver or gold, it's always a treat to encounter the many varieties of life forms that abound in our backyard abundance.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14393951106917282292noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-46349998431582858022015-09-08T17:30:00.000-07:002016-08-06T17:44:22.184-07:00Five-Step Drought Busting System<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wow! It really works! On a 100-degree September day, around three o'clock, I took some photos of garden vegetables that <i style="font-weight: bold;">were not wilting</i> in the blistering heat. Tomatoes, cucumbers, basil, zucchini -- all were standing tall.<br />
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Plants used to wilt noticeably in the hot afternoons even during non-record breaking summers. It was always such a sad sight that I used to avoid the garden during that part of the day. But now, well into what will likely turn out to be the hottest year yet on record here on Planet Earth, my humble veggies are basking and flourishing.<br />
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The Five-Step Drought Busting System works.<br />
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Although the portentously titled "System" is just a collection of simple practices that many gardeners follow, I believe it is the combination of <b><i>five</i></b> techniques that is making a noticeable difference in keeping the plants happy. Here's how it all fits together.<br />
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<b><i>Step One: Add lots of organic matter to the soil, and</i></b></h3>
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<b><i>Step Two: Don't dig!</i></b></h3>
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<i>Add organic matter and don't dig????? </i>But . . . but . . . how??? Simple. Just layer it on. This approach works just fine for Mother Nature. Go to a forest and take a look at what's going on beneath your feet: you will see layers and layers of leaf litter covering dark, rich, moist loam.<br />
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A statistic I've seen quoted frequently states that for every one percent increase in organic matter in an acre of ground, an additional 16,500 gallons of water can be held in the top one foot of soil. That's a lot of liquidity! And all that water stays in the soil.<br />
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I once saw a demonstration (most likely in Debra Koonz Garcia's wonderful film <i>Symphony of the Soil)</i> by a scientist who had set up four clear plastic cylinders of different types of dirt. He ran water through the cylinders to show which soil types held water and which did not. Soil with plenty of compost held nearly all the water poured on it and the little bit that trickled through was clear, showing that nutrient-laden silt was not washing away.<br />
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Even more convincing is <a href="http://craftsmanship.net/drought-fighters/" target="_blank">the experience of Paul and Elizabeth Kaiser of Singing Frogs Farm</a> in Sebastopol, California. They use massive amounts of compost on their three acres of vegetables to produce numerous harvests per year. After five years of building soil they have reduced their water use by more than 50% and their ponds and run-off are "almost crystal clear." Tests by experts have shown that their storm water run-off shows no leaching of excess nutrients to pollute waterways, confounding conventional wisdom about heavy use of compost.<br />
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The secret to the remarkable results at Singing Frogs Farm may well be the Kaiser's no-till philosophy. The active approach of adding massive quantities of organic matter is balanced by a passive avoidance of tilling or digging. The hands-off dig-free style allows the billions of life forms in rich soil to flourish. An intricately patterned living web holds on to the water and prevents leaching. <br />
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Bringing this data down to earth in our backyard means that the summer plantings -- about 100 square feet of ground -- should be holding plenty of moisture and retaining plenty of nutrients after a couple of years of intensively layering on various types of organics:<br />
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<li>chopped up cover crops such as fava beans and mustard </li>
<li>fallen leaves</li>
<li>straw </li>
<li>yard debris </li>
<li>small amounts of manure</li>
<li>small amounts of organic fertilizers</li>
<li>rock powder (for minerals) </li>
<li>cardboard </li>
<li>newspaper </li>
<li>lots and lots of compost.</li>
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The only digging implement used is a trowel to loosen up the top few inches of soil right before planting.<br />
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Step Three: Install Drip Irrigation</i></h3>
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Drip irrigation delivers a slow steady trickle of water right to the root zone of a plant and is nearly 100% efficient: pretty much all of the water reaches its objective and is not lost through evaporation or run-off. By contrast, overhead watering is thought to be about 50 to 70% efficient. Drip irrigation works even better with rich soil that holds the moisture in place so thirsty roots can make the most of it. Despite all that, until very recently I never used a drip system, preferring to water by hand with a spray nozzle on a long hose. I couldn't face the myriad tiny plastic parts and teeny hoses that have to be meticulously assembled and maintained.<br />
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Then I found the marvelous <a href="http://www.gardeners.com/buy/snip-n-drip-soaker-hose-watering-system/40-205.html">"Snip and Drip" irrigation system from Gardener's Supply.</a> Nice fat soaker hoses with Tinker-Toy sized plastic connectors are so easy to assemble a kindergartner could do it and even a senior citizen has a good chance of success. Included in the package is a length of regular hose. Both the soaker hose and regular hose can be cut with scissors (that's the "Snip" component) so the pieces can easily be customized for a raised bed garden. Sections of regular hose run across the paths and link together the raised beds outfitted with lengths of soaker hose (the "Drip" component). Very sweet! Plus, it can all be disassembled and reconfigured as needed from one season to the next.<br />
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<b><i>Step Four: Make Some Ollas</i></b></h3>
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Oh-yahs, oh yes! Ollas are unglazed clay pots sunk into the ground and filled with water that will be sought out by the roots of nearby plants. It's an ancient system thought to have originated in Africa, with the first written record coming from the Fan Sheng-chih Shu, a guide for farmers compiled more than two millenia ago in China.<br />
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In case you are wondering why an African or Chinese system has a Spanish-sounding name, our modern terminology is derived from the Latin word for "pot," <i>olla,</i> which passed unchanged into Spanish, The word, plus the technique was brought to the Southwest USA by the early explorers and taken up by Native Americans.<br />
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It is now re-emerging in our water starved regions of the West. The research is advancing as well, proving the extreme efficiency of a system where every drop of water goes straight to roots that need it and not a single drop is wasted. A good overview of the method <a href="http://permaculturenews.org/2010/09/16/ollas-unglazed-clay-pots-for-garden-irrigation/">(lots of research citations and further reading) is to be found at the Permaculture Research Institute website. </a><br />
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When I first started using clay pots several years ago I felt like an early explorer myself, trying out something known only to readers of obscure gardening blogs and permaculture websites. Now ollas are to be found at local nurseries and hardware stores or online from a variety of sources. As they are not only amazingly efficient but amazingly pricey, I still make my own from cheap clay planting pots stoppered with rubber corks and lidded with the pot's own overflow dish.<br />
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In our summer garden each plant of tomato, zuccini, and cucumber has at least one sunken pot to ensure a reliable supply of water through the heat of the day.<br />
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<b><i>Step 5: Mulch, Mulch, Mulch</i></b></h3>
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The last step in the Five-Step Drought-Busting System is to add a thick layer of mulch such as dry straw which covers the other elements: the rich undug soil holding moisture like a sponge, the soaker hoses tricking water sparingly into the sponge, and the sunken pots of hidden water nourishing thirsty roots directly. A thick mulch helps to keep the whole garden bed moist and prevent the small percentage of evaporation that occurs from the drip irrigation lines and the unglazed clay pot lids that remain above the surface of the soil.<br />
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Mulch is almost a religion with some gardeners for very good reasons. In general, it's a good idea to avoid bare soil. Nature abhors a vacuum and Mother Nature abhors uncovered ground.<br />
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The final step is to go out on a searingly hot day and enjoy looking at your happy plants!!<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-8367818170904947962015-08-25T12:01:00.000-07:002016-07-30T13:54:44.206-07:00High Point of Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here we are in the lush peak of the season and, despite our diminished expectations, our drought-stricken, curtailed garden is nonetheless yielding more produce than we can deal with:<br />
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An array of hefty heirloom tomatoes in subtle shades of orange, red, pink and yellow . . .<br />
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Three kinds of zucchini in farmer's market quantities . . . and so many bristly cucumbers that we are running out of space in the fridge for the pickling experiments.<br />
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Not to mention the best collection of basil ever.<br />
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And the backyard even <b><i>looks</i></b> good if the camera angles are just right, edging out the dry, scraggly, burnt-brown areas and capturing only the productive beds overflowing with abundance.<br />
<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-60889387024875665252014-02-27T17:30:00.000-08:002014-03-08T14:23:05.533-08:00A Benediction of Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We owe a mighty vote of thanks to all the folks who were praying for rain. Two storms, one yesterday, another due in tonight, are expected to bring four to six inches in the lowlands and more on the hills. What a difference a little bit of moisture makes.<br />
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Even thought it's not nearly enough to save us from unprecedented drought -- the current soakings will only bring total rainfall so far to not quite forty percent of normal -- the backyard is a whole new place. How long has it been since there were fat water droplets clinging to the textured surface of the kale leaves? It seems like years.<br />
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There is a softness in the air, a new urgency in the song of the birds, and a sweet fragrance from the darkened soil. St. Francis had it right when he praised "Sister Water, so humble and precious and clean."<br />
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There is a heightened awareness now, all across California, of every precious drop, gallon, and acre foot. Trying to do my small part, I set out a plastic garbage can in the back yard as an instant rain water cachement system. A few inches have been collected already from the first storm. It's a tiny tiny drop in an extremely large bucket (the whole state and its water deficit) but it works as a consciousness raising gesture.<br />
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We are ready for the next storm, and the next.BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-24612620056639320292014-02-25T12:40:00.000-08:002014-03-08T14:27:36.065-08:00Hyacinth and Friends<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A little white hyacinth is blooming in our backyard, where no hyacinth has bloomed before!!! I've bought them before, of course, at the supermarket, in tiny ceramic pots for forced blooming indoors. After all, who can resist a hyacinth in the springtime? <br />
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This one was growing up out of a pile of compost. I imagine the spent bulb came out with the kitchen scraps and landed in a propitious spot. Not realizing what it was -- no blooms were showing -- I unwittingly uprooted it while shoveling compost and adding insult to injury, or rather injury to insult, I sliced off a bit of the bulb with the shovel.<br />
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When I saw what it was I immediately planted it in the rich soil along the fence. I was sure it was done for, but plants can surprise you and I am always ready to be surprised. How nice to be rewarded with an un-looked for bloom. Let's hope it prospers in its new home as a symbol of rebirth, regeneration, and second chances, or, actually, third chances: house, compost pile, and now, planting bed. A three-time winner and a fitting tribute to the beautiful youth Hyacinth, beloved by Apollo but accidentally, tragically, slain by him and immortalized in an ever renewing flower.<br />
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Flowering at the same time across the yard in the bed along the other fence is a little mystery bulb, a migrant from the front yard. It must have come in with the leaf litter I collect in the front yard to cover paths in the back yard, following the permaculture practice of using onsite materials whenever possible.<br />
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There are dozens of these unknowns in the front yard, coming up every spring as long as we have lived here. And now they will be colonizing the backyard too. Another un-looked for spring bloom.<br />
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The wild onions are also blooming now in the shade under the plum trees. No mysteries or surprises are involved. These are tenacious weeds I happen to be fond of. They appear with the early spring bloomers and spread opportunistically everywhere there's an opening. I like them as additions to spring salads -- all parts are edible and have a mild oniony tang.<br />
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What all three of these pretty volunteer plants with their hopeful white flowers have in common is that they have chosen to grow in our yard. May they prosper (within reason).BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-84405405218507362282014-02-21T15:05:00.001-08:002014-03-08T14:30:50.358-08:00Spring Begins, Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been a long, long journey round the sun since the last heralding of backyard plum blossoms. But spring springs eternally and nothing can stop its burgeoning progress. Neither 500-year-drought nor neglectful gardeners with other priorities will hold it back. Welcome, little beauties! We are really, really glad to see you, bringing fresh chances and new opportunities to begin again.BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-33361996509658159582013-03-02T18:13:00.000-08:002014-02-21T14:55:10.506-08:00Crocuses <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A lovely array of purple crocuses catches the light and cheers the heart, marking a further step in the inexorable onset of another springtime.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-79107603108635172892013-02-17T13:25:00.000-08:002013-04-07T13:26:55.281-07:00Waiting for Spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's time for the plum blossom extravaganza to begin in our backyard, but continuing chill has put a damper on things. The best we can manage is to make a fuss over some fat buds lining the bare twigs at eye level and a few hard-to-see blossoms way up at the top of the tree -- a mere handful. Not much is happening in the neighborhood, either. Usually by Valentine's Day there is an appropriately festive display of ruffly pink and white bloom lining the streets. <br />
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As a reference point, last year on this exact date, February 17th, I took the annual iconic photo of a just-opened perfect white plum blossom low enough on the tree to allow for close-ups. This year, fat buds will have to do.<br />
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Plum blossoms call for haiku, of course, but will buds suffice? Pondering this deep question, I noticed the waxing half moon, faintly visible through the denuded upper branches of the tree (not very visible in my photo, unfortunately): a reminder that poetry is where you find it.<br />
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Half moon caught in the<br />
Bare branches of the tall plum --<br />
Yet time does not stop.<br />
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If time is still moving then spring will surely come.<br />
<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-52616986640800335752013-01-27T16:30:00.000-08:002013-02-09T10:31:46.594-08:00Winter Doldrums<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I stand and survey the backyard these days the usual allure is missing. The garden does not draw me; the weather is too cold. Granted, the temperature gets up into the high 50s and even mid 60s during the day and at least part of the time the skies are clear and sunny. But the psychological pull -- usually so irresistible -- is just not there. The chilly air, the cold ground, the wan sunshine seem to highlight the brown freeze-blasted plants and the scruffy bare branches of the trees. (No doubt, people in less temperate climate zones are justified in muttering: "Wimp.")<br />
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There is certainly plenty to do out back: clipping and pruning, putting wood chips on the paths, composting and mulching, on and on with a long list of usually enjoyable tasks that really need taking care of to get ready for the return of the planting season.<br />
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The relative lack of greenery exposes, in mute reproach, all the half-finished tasks from last autumn. The northern part of the garden is pretty much in limbo, suspended animation, waiting for the next surge of activity, like Sleeping Beauty awaiting a kiss from a Prince Charming who is simply not very motivated just now and prefers to stay inside and leaf through garden catalogs or read books on soil building. (Updated below.)<br />
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The only organized area is the southeast corner where several beds of winter greens have been supplying our table through the wet, cold months. There is a sense of order here if you don't peer too closely and notice that the plants look a bit storm battered and muddy, with slug-infested, decaying outer leaves. But nobody lingers here either. The most we can usually muster is a quick dash to pick what's needed at the moment, then a dash back to the warm kitchen. Wimps.<br />
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UPDATED: February 9, 2013. It must be said that, recently, a <b><i>real </i></b>Prince Charming has been doggedly clipping away at the towering rose thicket. Thank you, H.!!!!<br />
<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-10691337537252461042013-01-07T19:43:00.000-08:002013-01-26T18:09:15.700-08:00Twelfth Night Tomatoes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Every year it's the same thing and every year it's different. Maybe that's the real appeal of gardening. The regular annual cycles provide a way to hold on to the minutiae of daily life, the precious details that slip away unless they are gathered into patterns. Long after you've forgotten what happened last year, a similar milestone shows up and a whole sequence of years comes into sudden focus.<br />
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I think that's how it became a kind of ritual to celebrate the last of the tomatoes. And there's usually been a handy holiday to coincide with using up the final few jewels collected from withered vines hanging in the garage.<br />
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In 2011 we had <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/02/last-of-tomatoes.html" target="_blank">tomatoes on Valentine's Day (and beyond)</a>; the year before we celebrated with <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/12/new-years-eve-tomatoes.html" target="_blank">New Year's tomatoes</a>; before that we've had Christmas Eve tomatoes. Part of the ritual has been to see how long the season can stretch, so we've been pushing the celebration later and later. But this year New Year's came and went and I realized we weren't going to make it to Valentine's Day. Last summer wasn't such a great season for our backyard tomatoes and the supply overwintering in the garage was meager to begin with. By this weekend we were down to a handful of Sungolds.<br />
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No worries. There was a perfectly respectable holiday just sitting there waiting to be noticed. January 6: Twelfth Night! What does it matter if we have never observed the last of the twelve days of Christmas? It was a fine time for one more feast. Since we were over-feasted and over-feted from the previous twelve days, we settled for a brunch, strictly in-house.<br />
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There were enough Sungolds for scrambled eggs with fresh parsley and thyme from the backyard, blending two garden seasons in one festive dish.<br />
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B. produced a handsome loaf, so we had homemade whole grain bread.<br />
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We also had a King cake, or Rosca de Reyes ("kings' ring") because, well, you know -- Twelfth Night. The Magi arrive bearing gifts. Celebrated with a special cake. I went to a local Mexican market to buy one ready made but the ones for sale there were clearly intended for large extended families. They made me think of the scene in <i>My Big Fat Greek Wedding </i>where the groom's family -- two nervous Anglo parents bearing a small Bundt cake -- comes to meet the bride's family -- a crowd of uncles, aunts, cousins, grandparents, second cousins and two very jovial parents presiding over a large feast.<br />
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So I went to Trader Joe's and bought a teeny coffee cake, some cream cheese, and various fruits and nuts to decorate the top. I hid in the cake one of those foil covered chocolate coins, because that's what you do with a Twelfth Night cake, hide a token in it. We weren't exactly sure what it means if you get the piece with the token. In the British tradition it evidently means you are king or queen of the revels; in the Hispanic tradition it means you have to make the tamales for Candlemas on February 2. But it didn't matter because no one got the coin until much later when the leftovers disappeared and whoever got it is not openly admitting to it, perhaps concerned about making those tamales. It wasn't me, I know that much.<br />
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Anyway, it was a very fine brunch. We toasted the occasion with goblets of water, the wine of heaven. And the Twelfth Night tomatoes still had their homegrown savor.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-73176870199022297782012-11-04T18:06:00.000-08:002013-01-07T13:01:00.376-08:00The Elusive Soldier Fly<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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There have been a few soldier fly sightings in our yard before, always near our compost bins. But I've never gotten a photo because the large wasp-like creatures always fly off at the slightest disturbance. Today I managed to take several pictures -- with a flash, no less -- of one that remained determinedly in place on our little rosemary shrub, without even a twitch of its antennae.<br />
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Perhaps it was a female laying eggs? <br />
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The adult female <i>Hermetia illucens</i> or Black Soldier Fly (BSF), likes to lay her clusters of tiny eggs near a food source for the hatched-out larvae. Although she herself does not eat and does not even possess mouth parts, she is irresistibly drawn by the availability of decomposing kitchen scraps.<br />
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Thus, the rosemary shrub near the compost corner makes an excellent site for planting the next generation. I know that our local <i>Hermetia </i>moms make good choices because our bins always have an ample supply of larvae feeding on the freshest, juiciest layer of new compost material -- their preferred diet. <br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/10/confederacy-of-worms.html" target="_blank">After first discovering these fascinating creatures, </a>I have found myself irresistibly drawn to reading articles with titles like "The Bioconversion of Putrescent Waste" and watching videos on YouTube of proud gardeners showing off piles of garbage seething with fat <i>Hermetia</i> grubs. (It's amazing what an innocent hankering for tasty vegetables and beautiful flowers can lead to.)<br />
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The adult flies live only about a week, just long enough to reproduce. They are quiet, elusive, do not feed on anything and do not carry disease. They are quite common nearly everywhere, like the housefly; but most people are not aware of their existence.<br />
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Just start a compost bin that meets their standards, though, and see what happens. You will discover the grubs and be horrified. Then, as you learn more, you will become profoundly grateful for a free composting service rendered by Mother Nature. During their one to three month life span the grubs consume quantities of fresh waste. They work so fast that bacteria don't have a chance to make everything smelly and other types of flies are not attracted. They quickly establish what the experts call "niche dominance" and discourage the presence of fruit flies, blow flies, houseflies, and ants. Last but not least, or even last, the residue they leave behind when they crawl away to pupate is just right for redworms, who carry the breakdown process into the next stage of creating rich soil for your garden.<br />
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So if you see a shy BSF in your yard, treat it with all due respect. <br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-16169101356779053832012-10-01T13:14:00.000-07:002013-01-27T21:40:51.892-08:00Last Chance Zucchini <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The zucchini vines have been moldering on the compost pile for some time now. It seemed early to pull them out but they looked so sad I had to put them out of their misery. Nonetheless, the zucchini season lingers on. Last weekend, I was surprised to find a few actual zucchini tucked away in the back of the refrigerator. They looked fine and I felt gleeful: here was a last chance opportunity for <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/06/zucchini-flatbread.html" target="_blank">Zucchini Flatbread </a> which we haven't made since the summer of 2011.<br />
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We got the recipe from <i>Healthy Bread in Five Minutes a Day</i> (pages 208 and 209) and follow it more or less as given except that I don't really measure the zucchini, parsley, and scallions very closely. Our final batch of zukes, coarsely grated, came to four cups and I used all of it, plus a big handful of backyard parsley, finely chopped, and several scallions sliced thin. And, although the official recipe doesn't call for garlic, I don't feel capable of heating olive oil in a pan without adding several cloves of smashed garlic and swirling them around to infuse the oil with that indispensable earthy essence before putting in the main ingredients.<br />
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When the mixture gets soft and the zucchini juices have mostly cooked off (too much juice makes for soggy bread), it's time to throw in a couple of big handfuls of finely grated Parmesan cheese and let it melt gently into the mix.<br />
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On impulse I took a look at the website that goes with the book to see if there were any updates, tips, or video instructions for that particular recipe. <a href="http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/2011/09/28/zucchini-flatbread-with-roasted-tomato-and-pine-nuts-did-someone-say-flatbread" target="_blank">The most recent post, just the day before, presented a new take on Zucchini Flatbread, jazzed up with roasted cherry tomatoes.</a> Serendipity! And the whole recipe was explained in detail with plenty of big, clear photos. No excuses for messing this up.</div>
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It was a simple matter to gather some cherry tomatoes from the yard and put them under the broiler for a few minutes until they started to collapse in on themselves and change color.</div>
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Meanwhile, B. was working on the bread part of the recipe. He uses the "five-minutes-a-day" system, and unlike me, follows the instructions carefully. Since he already had a container of dough in the fridge for the next batch of regular bread, all he had to do was pull off a grapefruit-sized lump and squeeze it and shape it into a smooth ball.<br />
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Everything came together once he had the dough rolled out and fitted onto our handy oven peel. All I had to do was spread the zucchini-cheese mixture evenly over the surface, sprinkle on some pine nuts (thank you, CostCo!) and dot the roasted tomatoes here and there -- forgetting that you are supposed to hold them back and add them after the flatbread comes out of the oven. Oh, well.<br />
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B had preheated the oven to 450 F in plenty of time to warm up the baking stone, about thirty minutes ahead. Then, with an experienced deftness, he slid the decorated flatbread smoothly off the oven peel and onto the heated stone. The long handle on the peel makes this maneuver easy to do despite a really hot oven, although it takes some practice to learn just how much uncooked dry polenta to sprinkle on the peel under the pizza so it will slide off, and just when to give the peel a sharp jerk to start the slide.<br />
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The final result was just as delicious as we remembered from the first time. And all the tampering with the recipe -- too much zucchini, added garlic, cooking the tomatoes twice -- turned out just fine.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-5803348633140341732012-09-02T15:53:00.000-07:002013-01-02T18:30:32.213-08:00Do I Dare to Eat a Pear?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's a sparse year for pears -- the entire reachable crop is ripening on the dining room table. There are still a few unpicked beauties clustered at the very top of the tree, but for general purposes, what's available this season is in hand now.<br />
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Though lacking in numbers they make up for it in size and in perfection of color and shape. A single blushing pear in a blue bowl is almost too beautiful to eat.<br />
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But eventually flavor wins out over beauty. When they are at the peak of ripeness, I've never tasted such delicious pears. Last year, at the Heirloom Exposition in Santa Rosa, I studied the array of varieties laid out on long tables in the vast exposition hall, trying to figure out what is growing in our backyard. Our pears do resemble the Barletts; some of those on display had a reddish blush. But that's just a guess.<br />
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Fortunately, not knowing the variety doesn't impair the taste.<br />
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The best way to eat these pears is the simplest: cored and sliced into a bowl so there's nothing between you and the sweet juice and slightly grainy texture.<br />
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They are also delicious with a simple garnish of yogurt and walnuts: my current favorite afternoon snack.<br />
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And we don't like to let the summer pass without at least one <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/08/pear-tarte-tatin-with-whole-wheat.html" target="_blank">Tarte Tatin made with our own pears.</a> It has become one of our ritual recipes.<br />
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This year I tried making some pear sauce as well. Not too bad, though not as good as <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/09/farmers-market-applesauce.html" target="_blank">homemade applesauce.</a> It would be an OK way to preserve the crop if there's too much to eat fresh.<br />
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The experimental pear leather was better than the pear sauce, but not nearly as good as the <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2012/08/making-plum-leather.html" target="_blank">plum leather.</a> Another fall back method for handling a large crop.<br />
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Another great year for pears is almost gone. Each year we get a little better at doing them justice. <br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-62087846272511660452012-08-12T11:07:00.000-07:002013-01-01T17:51:12.026-08:00Making Plum Leather<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Plum trees grow like weeds in our town, often springing up unbidden. At peak season ripe plums drop onto sidewalks and you have to step around the sticky paste of crushed fruit. Maybe that's why we've never paid a lot of attention to the little copse of plum trees in our backyard once the burst of bloom in early spring wanes. For so many years we've let the fruit drop on the ground and rot away in the ivy.<br />
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This year there has been an abundance of especially delicious and juicy purple plums. The easiest way to enjoy them is to stand by the tree and eat the fattest, purplest, sun-warmed specimens within reach. A bowlful on the dining room table make a nice accent and an occasional snack.<br />
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But so much goes to waste. What to do with this bumper crop? Even though the season is pretty much over, it seems a shame to let it pass without making an effort to preserve some of the bounty. Make jam? It takes too much time, is really messy, and needs a lot of sugar. Hmmmmm . . . . . what about plum leather? It can't be that hard to make. The only ingredient is ripe fruit. There is a dehydrator gathering dust under the bed.<br />
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Step 1: Gather the best and ripest fruit you can find. Wash it thoroughly.<br />
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Step 2: Remove the pits by squeezing the fruit between your fingers and picking out the pits from the gooey pulp. Be sure to capture all the liquid.<br />
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Step 3: Puree the pit-free mass of pulp and skins in the blender. <br />
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Step 4: Push the blended pulp through a strainer to remove the skins. Possibly you could do this before blending, but letting some of the skins mix into the pulp adds color, and perhaps adds nutrients.<br />
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Step 5: Brush some olive oil onto the drying rack in the dehydrator -- not too much or the end product is too greasy. You need a special drying rack for making fruit leather. <br />
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Step 6: Gently pour the strained puree onto the drying rack, using only enough to completely coat the surface of the rack. Store extra puree in the fridge for the next batch. Alternatively, invest in more drying racks because they stack and you can do several at once. (I haven't tried that.)<br />
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Step 7: Optional -- sprinkle on some grated coconut.<br />
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Step 8: Put the top on the dehydrator and set it on the highest temperature (155 degrees F). After a couple of hours, turn the temperature down to 135 degrees F and keep it going until the puree is thoroughly dried out. It helps to set things up in an out-of-the-way place like the garage, so the continuous noise doesn't drive you batty. The puree takes a long time to dry out. Turn the machine off at night, of course, if it takes longer than a day.<br />
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Step 9: Periodically test the puree by touching it gently with your finger -- if it's the least bit sticky it's not done. When finally done (hooray!) lift the lovely, translucent wreath of plum leather out of the machine. Plums have lots of natural pectin so the final material is firm and stretchy.<br />
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Step 10: Cut the wreath into pieces and wrap the pieces in waxed paper.<br />
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Step 11: Roll up the covered pieces and secure them well.<br />
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Step 12: Store in a covered plastic container in the fridge. Eat some right away and marvel at the fresh, fruity taste -- a much more concentrated flavor than the fresh fruit itself. Essence of plums. Share some with friends to hear their delighted response. <br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-2305746680212818982012-08-05T15:04:00.000-07:002013-08-09T14:12:36.021-07:00Season of Plenty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The blooming of the pink lilies signals the season of plenty in our backyard. As the blossoms gradually opened this week, we brought in several harvest baskets of lush produce:<br />
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Dona tomatoes<br />
Better Boy tomatoes<br />
Sungold cherry tomatoes<br />
Padron peppers<br />
Fairy Tale eggplant<br />
Prosperosa eggplant<br />
Ronde de Nice zucchini<br />
Emperor's Jade zucchini<br />
Genovese basil (the best for pesto)<br />
Summertime lettuce<br />
Michelle lettuce<br />
A few stray leaves of volunteer arugula<br />
Assorted leaves of volunteer yard chard<br />
Purple plums (last few of their waning season)<br />
Yellow plums (more than we can deal with)<br />
Pears!!!!!!! (See below).<br />
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And that's not even the full roster. Still to come are:<br />
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Roman Stripe paste tomatoes<br />
Indigo Blue tomatoes<br />
Sweet Million cherry tomatoes<br />
Pimento peppers<br />
Lemon cucumbers<br />
Blue Lake beans<br />
Fortex beans<br />
Volunteer mystery squash most likely descended from the Trombetta di Albenga of previous summers (judging by the size of the vines).<br />
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The lilies bloom in early August, announcing the all too short season of feasting on our summer specialties: <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/11/insanely-good-pasta-sauce.html" target="_blank">Insanely Great Pasta Sauce</a> and the inimitable <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/08/pear-tarte-tatin-with-whole-wheat.html" target="_blank">Pear Tarte Tatin</a>.<br />
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When the lilies bloom the pears are ready to drop. It's time to start watching the pear tree carefully because pears, counter-intuitively, should not be allowed to ripen on the tree. When the first one falls the whole harvest must be picked at once.<br />
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This year we got impatient and didn't wait for that first plopped pear before sending H. up on a ladder to gather in whatever he could reach -- everything but a few fat ones clinging to the topmost branches.<br />
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I think the blooming lilies are now so strongly associated in my mind with the season of plenty that, like Pavlov's dog, I start to salivate when I see them! Fill the harvest baskets; it's the time of fruiting and feasting!<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-79495532332064627382012-07-21T17:44:00.000-07:002012-12-29T13:50:04.468-08:00The Incredible Exploding Thistle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On a recent sunny afternoon, I noticed a mass of white gossamer fluff on the giant bull thistle that stands seven feet tall in one of the garden paths. It had not been there that morning. The mass consisted of spidery whorls of white threads, each carrying a tiny oval seed at the bottom. Some of the whorls -- "light as thistledown" because thistledown is exactly what they were -- were already lofting away on the breeze.<br />
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Uh oh. <br />
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I pulled out a handful of fluff, marveling at how neatly and densely the seeds were packed in -- dozens wedged into one small round seed pod about an inch across. No wonder the thing burst open.<br />
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In botanical circles there is a technical term for exploding plant parts: <i><b>dehiscence.</b></i><br />
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I couldn't let this particular bull thistle go on exploding. There were enough seeds in one little pod and enough pods on a seven foot plant to eventually turn the whole yard into a thick thorny forest. <br />
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Already, the floating seeds were finding resting spots in quiet corners of the yard, ready to set up shop and bring forth new generations of towering bull thistles.<br />
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Before going after the plant with pruning shears and thick gloves, I took some final photos of the magnificent purple blossoms, full blown and feathery, or wilting, fading, and folding into themselves. Thistle blossoms are sought out avidly by bees and butterflies, and thistle honey, of course, is much prized. That's one reason I let the plant live out most of its span of time.<br />
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On YouTube I found an amazing video of a swallowtail butterfly feeding greedily from a thistle blossom for a full two minutes, in a scene I have never witnessed directly but fondly hope has occurred in our backyard and will occur again.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-3975150549908601032012-07-09T12:33:00.000-07:002012-07-29T12:38:07.073-07:00It's a Ronde de Nice!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Mystery solved. The unknown "round kind" zucchini from Green String Farm is a Ronde de Nice -- a coveted French heirloom from the southern Provencal region facing the Mediterranean and abutting Italy. It is so delicate, so easily bruised it doesn't show up in markets very often.<br />
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Despite the exotic heritage, the fancy name pretty much amounts to saying "round thingy from Nice." Welcome to our garden little round thing! May you be as happy here as on the Cote d'Azur.<br />
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The first zucchini harvest this year consisted of a couple of "long kind" Emperor's Jade beauties on June 25. It took a few days more for the Ronde de Nice to size up to what my uneducated eye considered harvestable size. At any rate, with all the data in hand, the records for the zucchini chronicles can now be brought up to date:<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Seedlings planted:</span><br />
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2009 May 10 (Green Racer)<br />
2010 Not sure, but later than May 10 (Green Bush)<br />
2011 May 8 (Cocozelle, Zephyr)<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2012 May 12 (Ronde de Nice, Emperor's Jade)</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">First blossom:</span><br />
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2009/06/firsts-continued_08.html">2009 June 8</a></span><br />
<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/06/zucchini-blossom.html">2010 June 13</a><br />
2011 June 12<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2012 June 19 (Ronde de Nice); June 20 (Emperor's Jade)</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">First harvest:</span><br />
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2009 June 14<br />
2010 June 21<br />
2011<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span><a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/06/first-zucchini-harvest.html"> June 25</a> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>2012 June 25 (Emperor's Jade), a few days later, about June 29 (Ronde de Nice)</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1I0HzT-68G0sY2GTk2_7UpofMc5uiApsFjnWSiuHwH7p-3Q5JUAhIRxn1-P_KAQCh0aI0rOaZemYyUyIS_MzOXF58jOpWcs7ZVo5trA9T24H-g8xxG-hDVSIyf4wLf_OHxZGcWdvYgZA/s1600/IMG_5102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1I0HzT-68G0sY2GTk2_7UpofMc5uiApsFjnWSiuHwH7p-3Q5JUAhIRxn1-P_KAQCh0aI0rOaZemYyUyIS_MzOXF58jOpWcs7ZVo5trA9T24H-g8xxG-hDVSIyf4wLf_OHxZGcWdvYgZA/s640/IMG_5102.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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We had plenty of zucchini on hand for a driveway picnic on the Fourth of July. The grilled veggies were definitely a big hit, as was the rest of the menu: corn with basil butter grilled in the husk, tofu dogs, deviled eggs, and a red white and blue fruit salad of raspberries, blueberries, and yoghurt. The zucchini and basil were the only items from the garden, but nobody was complaining.<br />
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And there was still plenty of zucchini left for the first batch of summertime green soup on July 9.BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-56465827800763000092012-06-21T12:23:00.000-07:002012-07-14T12:48:20.578-07:00Zucchini Time Is Here Again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPejvSkCGPJV_AcGAAfFxdubRF7QxM7Y9nSl3tjWQ6MZFHvBqW17km3yUkGtjYwik_ss6Ol0yWUiXuv3WbrvSu8IfUzkquarXLYrsIMYV2t8qplhD-X9dIUyoLoeN971_2fZHS979rQU/s1600/IMG_5031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPejvSkCGPJV_AcGAAfFxdubRF7QxM7Y9nSl3tjWQ6MZFHvBqW17km3yUkGtjYwik_ss6Ol0yWUiXuv3WbrvSu8IfUzkquarXLYrsIMYV2t8qplhD-X9dIUyoLoeN971_2fZHS979rQU/s640/IMG_5031.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's always a thrill when the first zucchini blossom of the summer season opens for business! Adding to the thrill is the mysterious identity of this year's first bloom. <br />
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Some weeks back at Green String Farm I was looking over a long wooden table of seedlings: squash and melons with generic labels like "zucchini" or "cantaloupe." The young intern on duty couldn't tell me which variety of zucchini was being offered for sale. "I think it's one of the round kind, but I'm not sure," she said. "It could be one of the long kind."<br />
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Just starting your internship, eh? I thought to myself. No matter -- the timing was right, the garden space was available, I love trying a new type of plant, and we all need to support the next generation of idealistic farmers. I bought two sturdy seedlings and, on May 12, transplanted them into one of the cucurbit beds in the northwest corner of the garden.<br />
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On June 19 the first sunshine yellow crepe paper blossom unfurled at the end of its long thin stem -- a lone male flower, testing the summer air of this new season. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFOL2PoJ6A6f4tQpboxvRNQhMpVCoAeWDTLFqL-NMHw0ib4PWRwiOspRvrc36eq6w8ibRMDP5zhzlbGYxLOfNbYtEyMxQZuhCUGnrQG4Q2LdM4hojRBjKRiPpOcJOyD57dJqxrYlOHa4/s1600/IMG_5040.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFOL2PoJ6A6f4tQpboxvRNQhMpVCoAeWDTLFqL-NMHw0ib4PWRwiOspRvrc36eq6w8ibRMDP5zhzlbGYxLOfNbYtEyMxQZuhCUGnrQG4Q2LdM4hojRBjKRiPpOcJOyD57dJqxrYlOHa4/s640/IMG_5040.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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As yet unopened, the first mysterious female flower was a tight green bud with a baby zucchini, distinctively round, at its base. So, it's one of the round kind -- but which one? I decided to let it grow a bit before beginning my online research.<br />
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The neighboring bed with three plants of Emperor's Jade zucchini from Sweetwater Nursury via Whole Foods was also planted on May 12. Nothing was blooming yet but a baby zucchini was in evidence beneath a bud furled tight as a folded umbrella.</div>
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By the next morning, June 20, the mystery squash had opened its first female flower.<br />
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And the Emperor's golden flags were flying too, both male and female standards.<br />
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Male flowers on both varieties are quite similar in the formation of the anthers, the pollen bearing parts, but there are subtle differences in the convoluted surfaces of the female stigmas, which receive the pollen.<br />
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So far it's a good year for zucchini, unlike <a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011_08_01_archive.html" target="_blank">last summer's spider mite disaster</a>, a most demoralizing episode. I had to buy zucchini for green soup, feeling very furtive about it. If you can't grow zucchini you might as well turn in your trowel.<br />
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I think we will be able to pass the zucchini test this year.<br />
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Data from the last several seasons shows a pretty consistent pattern of growth even though I planted different varieties each year: Seedlings set in the ground in early May start to bloom about a month later, more or less. Perhaps, all in all, it doesn't matter a lot whether it's the round kind or the long kind. Zucchini is zucchini is zucchini. But that won't stop me from tracking down the mystery squash, for the record.<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">Seedlings planted:</span><br />
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2009 May 10 (Green Racer)<br />
2010 Not sure, but later than May 10 (Green Bush)<br />
2011 May 8 (Cocozelle, Zephyr)<br />
2012 May 12 (mystery squash, Emperor's Jade)<br />
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<span style="font-weight: bold;">First blossom:</span><br />
<span style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /><a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2009/06/firsts-continued_08.html">2009 June 8</a></span><br />
<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2010/06/zucchini-blossom.html">2010 June 13</a><br />
2011 June 12<br />
2012 June 19 (mystery squash); June 20 (Emperor's Jade)<br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/06/first-zucchini-harvest.html"></a>BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-32122193882133421582012-03-20T13:20:00.000-07:002016-07-09T13:25:21.001-07:00Freesias in the Rain<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAa2NZf02EOZBFGpqCIy-t48n74MiN_LUuQtE23QaKl7quOA2NLO_mIfTURXhkAiRBwWnl3z7T3yhOtK9qIRvQGlPhXvxN79EI_kW8CnJ5S7khdFXToQqVatlRTG52Ld5eW96VbMMSoDw/s1600/IMG_4682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAa2NZf02EOZBFGpqCIy-t48n74MiN_LUuQtE23QaKl7quOA2NLO_mIfTURXhkAiRBwWnl3z7T3yhOtK9qIRvQGlPhXvxN79EI_kW8CnJ5S7khdFXToQqVatlRTG52Ld5eW96VbMMSoDw/s320/IMG_4682.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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A miracle of water has been falling out of the sky! We have had currents in the gutters, rushing streams, fallen blossoms pasted to the sidewalks, and in the backyard, plants bent down with the weight of accumulated moisture. In the middle of this happy hulabaloo the first freesias of the season quietly opened up their golden throats and took a gentle drink. I photographed them the morning of March 13 after several days of rain with more rain following.<br />
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-78368900511479004712012-02-19T19:24:00.000-08:002012-02-25T20:03:51.928-08:00First Plum Blossom!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The first plum blossom in our backyard inspired some haiku thoughts:<br />
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Spring makes a bargain<br />
With the cold air of a bright day:<br />
First white plum blossom.<br />
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Buson, when dying,<br />
Hoped for plum blossoms of<br />
Eternity's dawn.<br />
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Where every morning<br />
Is the first morning and the<br />
Blossoms never fall.<br />
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Buson, the cherished 18th century Japanese poet and painter, is said to have composed his final death-bed poem hoping to see the first iconic blossoms of early spring before he died and comparing them to what he hoped to see after he died.<br />
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Perhaps he was making up for <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yosa_Buson">an earlier verse with a less transcendent message:</a><br />
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"In nooks and corners<br />
Cold remains:<br />
Flowers of the plum."<br />
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(Translated by R. H. Blyth)<br />
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It's true that a large part of the haunting beauty of the fragile white flowers that spring suddenly from dead branches arises from their vulnerability and fleetingness. Storms may come; there might be frost. The brave new blooms could be littering the ground as quickly as they appeared.<br />
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But they also hold a promise of more beauty to come. Slow, hidden processes are coming to fruition and even though the petals may fall, life goes on and, perhaps, like a poet's prayer, merges with eternity.<br />
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That's why, although there have been blossoms all over town for several weeks -- flowering cherry, quince, tulip magnolias -- the first pale plum flower in our own backyard stopped me in my tracks. It's a surprise even when I know it's coming. Usually I'm not looking for it but just happen to notice it while walking by with other tasks in mind.<br />
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Something always impels me to note the occasion. I used to jot it down on my calendar. Now I take pictures with a digital camera that records for posterity the date and time.<br />
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According to my informal data of the past several years, the first plum blossom appears sometime around Valentine's Day, mid-February, when the seasons are shifting back and forth from day to day. The data is very informal since the "first blossom" is the one that I happen to see -- i.e. it's more or less at eye level, not way up on the high branches.<br />
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Let the record show that the first plum blossom of 2012 was photographed on February 17.<br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/02/plum-blossoms.html">First blossom of 2011: February 13.</a><br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/02/plum-blossoms.html">First blossom of 2010: February 7.</a><br />
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That's as far back as my photographic evidence goes.<br />
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Each year this momentary "first" seems more momentous.<br />
<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-68299221556480454412012-02-12T18:37:00.000-08:002012-02-12T21:38:27.209-08:00A Tweet Mob of RobinsAll day long the robins have been in a state of high excitement. This morning the neighbors' redwoods and eucalyptus were shaking and fluttering with hidden activity and the sunlit air was alive with loud, rowdy birdsong. It took me a while but eventually I figured out what was going on, based on previous experience with robins and ivy berries.<br />
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I've seen it before. When the ivy is fruiting, the robins go crazy over the myriad clusters of small dark berries packed with nutrition and quick energy. The continuous twittering of the first arrivals seems to draw others and soon there are crowds of them swooping here and there. A tweet mob for sure. Occupy the ivy!!!<br />
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I could see thick twining vines of ivy snaking up the tallest redwoods -- that's where most of the activity was centered as fat birds dove in eagerly, dislodging others who flew up onto nearby eucalyptus branches.<br />
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Because neither redwood nor eucalyptus drop their greenery in winter it was hard to see the birds except in flight. But when I went back out in late afternoon the action had shifted to our yard. The skies had clouded over and, in the bare branches of the locust tree by the garage, plenty of plump, chesty silhouettes were visible against a luminous grey field of light. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijX20hXVzJMngFerD1b2BpA3wlbScmer_ALVdo2tp4ME_d01cYzahyphenhyphenti0TBmfdSiwTwmaKdvZhXRet3U2t4awj3ylRFoVb-zSews0jW41LxNPfHBdY7leDQGpil6ackln35Dkdb9zuWE/s1600/IMG_4560.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhijX20hXVzJMngFerD1b2BpA3wlbScmer_ALVdo2tp4ME_d01cYzahyphenhyphenti0TBmfdSiwTwmaKdvZhXRet3U2t4awj3ylRFoVb-zSews0jW41LxNPfHBdY7leDQGpil6ackln35Dkdb9zuWE/s640/IMG_4560.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The mood was much quieter. Most of the birds were too stuffed to do more than chirp -- or perhaps burp -- contentedly and wait politely for their turn to fly over to the small, ivy-covered plum tree.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9IjTiyieGn3JErEJxflvejDIx82LWaM9uylmp1l8wLZAabJloWkzxzC5qNBv_Pn6A1xH4iChNae-qurrGlDHOSXPdV0Adq_ukS7svEoRxgrqk06-hX2a-urThy1P4Q-4tgBHOvzPlZg/s1600/IMG_4564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB9IjTiyieGn3JErEJxflvejDIx82LWaM9uylmp1l8wLZAabJloWkzxzC5qNBv_Pn6A1xH4iChNae-qurrGlDHOSXPdV0Adq_ukS7svEoRxgrqk06-hX2a-urThy1P4Q-4tgBHOvzPlZg/s640/IMG_4564.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Just a few birds at a time held sway in the spindly branches of the plum tree, occasionally dropping down into the mass of ivy for a few last tidbits. A fine closing to a fine day.<br />
<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-69861596285746380252012-02-08T18:15:00.000-08:002012-02-08T19:32:05.941-08:00Glorious GloomIt seems churlish to complain about a long series of bright days with clear skies, but that's what's been going on on the West Coast as farmers look to their water tables, planners measure the reservoirs, and skiers long for snow. With a dry December followed by a dry January the Sierra snow pack is at 30% of normal and the big ski resorts have resorted to trucking in machine made frozen white stuff that isn't really snow. Where are the winter storms???? <br />
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Let me add a gardener's voice to the chorus. It feels odd to have to water the backyard at this time of year. I'm even watering the weeds. The patches of volunteer miner's lettuce, usually lush swaths of green-gold splendor, are sparse and pale. Yesterday, therefore, was a welcome respite from the relentless blue glare overhead as a dark cloud cover swept in and released not nearly enough rain for the big picture but plenty for the enjoyment of the moment and a brief pick-me-up for the plants.<br />
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This morning I tried to take some pictures of the glorious gloom before the mists dissipated. Hooray for a grey day!!
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<br />BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-51343017561254738062011-11-19T11:25:00.000-08:002012-02-19T19:28:56.536-08:00Lemon Renaissance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8opKSl2cddCafCQdq_Lkjou6kVM607KmrzHp4hCt9SJpcOWdhGq4rmTXld-eWBR1_ItLVoQFgz_aHXYBbkN_ll-w4pnF8qS5dnx2Mbo_9IKTQQvf3sOhI1CtjnqIF1eGB3DbkB2dW9E/s1600/IMG_4258.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="240" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676791451123784466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8opKSl2cddCafCQdq_Lkjou6kVM607KmrzHp4hCt9SJpcOWdhGq4rmTXld-eWBR1_ItLVoQFgz_aHXYBbkN_ll-w4pnF8qS5dnx2Mbo_9IKTQQvf3sOhI1CtjnqIF1eGB3DbkB2dW9E/s320/IMG_4258.JPG" style="display: block; height: 300px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" width="320" /></a></div>
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The little potted Meyer lemon tree is finally coming into its own. There is a noticeable difference this season in size and abundance.<br />
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We acquired it by mail order in February 2009. It arrived in a cardboard box with the largest quantity of Styrofoam pellets I've ever encountered. It seemed to take forever to scoop them out and slowly uncover the tiny tree with two huge yellow lemons dangling like gaudy oversize earrings from twigs that could barely support them. <br />
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We gathered about five lemons the first year which I picked too soon in my eagerness, and none the second year because they kept falling off while still dark green and the size of a fingernail.</div>
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Whence this bumper crop? Maybe the time is right; it does take fruit trees a while to get going. Or perhaps it's the effects of compost tea and rock powder.<br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2009/12/frost-protection.html">Each winter it needs protection from the frost.</a> I've been watching the weather carefully and covering it sometimes when the forecasts skirt too close to 32 degrees. We've had no freezes yet. Will the lemons keep ripening even when frost-kissed? The label says it produces flowers and fruit year round in USDA Zones 9 and 10. We are Zone 10 so here's hoping for a Christmas harvest. B. says just to be safe we should bring it inside and make it into our Christmas tree. For one thing, it's already decorated!</div>BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7744442226610479.post-70160785791390238682011-11-17T17:17:00.000-08:002012-02-08T18:06:57.954-08:00"Barnival" at Green String Farm<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAUYdS1sONS0IfTDEEC8lRxTHNVTgy6lSXpTDyLYaHcIhTper7VA3xLLL2IqLI2pGtr2saQQR0r4wQkn1o4QdS1l6hrwaNbgAcdly3ppud9OS1ssuouYyii4ZdkYnUNBZuDZy3Xg2v7g/s1600/IMG_4245.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677632068259050562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAUYdS1sONS0IfTDEEC8lRxTHNVTgy6lSXpTDyLYaHcIhTper7VA3xLLL2IqLI2pGtr2saQQR0r4wQkn1o4QdS1l6hrwaNbgAcdly3ppud9OS1ssuouYyii4ZdkYnUNBZuDZy3Xg2v7g/s400/IMG_4245.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://bountifulbackyard.blogspot.com/2011/08/green-string-farm.html">There's another crop of interns at Green String Farm. </a>Last Saturday they put on their community event, so after I filled my cloth bags with lettuce and potatoes from the farm store -- there's no gardener's guilt in buying produce here to supplement our home-grown fare -- I wandered out to the "Barnival." This event was aimed at little kids so all the big kids were in costumes. Or maybe it was the lingering influence of Halloween, which is an over the top event in these parts.<br />
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Passing up the cider press (too much sugar) and the petting zoo (too crowded) I found myself at the transplant booth. Two interns (secretly dubbed by me as Sam Gamgee and Galadriel in honor of the little box of magic dirt that Galadriel bestowed on Sam) were giving away lettuce seedlings to any children who would do the transplanting themselves, right there at the booth. They kindly made an exception for a senior citizen.<br />
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With Butter lettuce seedling in hand (and secretly promising to do justice to this magic dirt), I continued my journey and found myself in the cavernous old barn which was lending its name to the event. The last time I was here, in August, this was a lecture hall. Now it was transformed into a huge storage area for the storable crops.<br />
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Admiring the ample bins of winter squash, threshed grain, and potatoes, I was glad all over again about discovering this local cornucopia. Well done, winter interns.BBhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16165367384598600487noreply@blogger.com0